I look at this pathetic fuck and know exactly how to play this.
I’m going to call his bluff.
I’m going to scare the fuck out of him with lies upon lies so that he’ll never know if they are true or not, because he’d never dare to flesh them out.
“You know Fletcher was an avid hunter right? He was a paranoid fuck, but an avid hunter nonetheless.” I smile as I draw a connection between two things that have no connection, hoping the certainty in my voice convinces him. “He had trail cams everywhere on that property of his. All thirty acres of it.”
“Why the fuck do I care?” he snarls.
“The best part about those thirty acres is they lined the main road going toward town. He’d catch footage of deer on the road, of kids playing homerun derby with their bats to mailboxes, and of trivial shit that no one cares about.” I tsk. “Except, the one time it caught footage of a dark, four-door sedan.” I lean back and make a show of checking out his car as his body stills beneath my hands. Motherfucker, I think my hunch is right. Thank god for that. “Much like the one right here. In fact, that footage caught what looks like it purposely running another car off the road. Tatum Knox’s car to be exact.”
He sputters something that sounds like bullshit, but it doesn’t hide the sudden widening of his pupils or hitch of his breath.
“Who knew that footage was just sitting on Fletcher’s computer all this time under the file name “Proof”? I bet he held on to it as leverage in case he needed it.” I whistle. “You think it would cause a stir, Destin, if this security footage somehow ended up in the hands of the police?”
“You’re lying.”
“You’d like to think I was, but, hey”—I lean in closer—”I bet the police could zoom right in on that license plate too. Wouldn’t that be nice? It isn’t as if you were smart enough to cover it when you played chicken. I mean what do you think the charge would be? Hit and run? Reckless driving? Attempted murder?”
“Fuck you,” he grits out.
“Ah, there’s that stellar vocabulary of yours again. No wonder you have to resort to illegal activities to make a living.” It takes everything I have not to plow my fist into his face again and make sure his nose is broken so badly that every fucking time he looks in the mirror and sees how crooked it is, he thinks of me. That he never forgets my threat.
Most of all, I want him to be a walking reminder to everyone in town not to ever fuck with her again.
“You’re full of shit. If you had video, why was it never given to the police, huh?”
“Because Fletcher was a low-life chicken shit who was lying to his wife about how upside down he was.” My fist pounds on the car. “If he turned it in, she would have found out all about his connection to you and the debts he owed. She would have made the connection that it was you who ran her off the road as a threat to get him to pay up.”
“Get off me.”
“What was that?” I say and lean in closer to him. “You want me to turn the footage over to Rusty because you’re a stubborn fuck who doesn’t believe me?” My grin is wide and taunting as I release his shirt, turn my back to him, and begin to walk away. “Gladly. I’ll head straight there.” I throw the last words over my shoulder.
“Don’t you dare!” he shouts as his footsteps reverberate off the ground behind me.
I turn to face him just as he starts to cock back his fist. “Not a good choice, Destin. Not a good one at all.” I point to all of the people now milling around outside the bar and whisper, “Witnesses,” with a smirk on my lips as if I’m giving him sage advice.
Surprisingly, he isn’t as dumb as he looks, and he lowers his fist.
Good.
“Oh, and if that security footage isn’t enough incentive for you, I’ll remind you that I also have copies of your books—illegal ledgers that show you’re making money through illegal gambling—that you were enough of a jackass to hand over to my customer. Should I go over all of the ways Rusty can bring charges against you with those?”
Where my smile is wide, his scowl is startled.
I have him wedged solidly between blackmail and pressed charges, and he knows it.
“This is your only warning, Destin. You or your brother ever go near the ranch, her business, or her in general, then all of this goes straight to Rusty. Possibly even the Feds since it seems you run a multijurisdictional operation here.” I step into him so that there is no mistaking my threat. “There will be no next time. Understood?”
He spits a mouthful of blood onto the concrete and nods before I slide back into my truck and peel out of the lot.
Adrenaline courses through my veins the entire way back to the ranch, my body jittery from the high of knowing I did something that will protect her when I’m gone.
Christ. When I’m gone.
The thought eats at me just as potently as the events of the last half hour do.
Two things I can’t control but tried to.
Fuck.
I park the truck and just stand there in the driveway to take a minute to calm myself before joining the barbecue. I have to pretend as if nothing happened when I feel like so much has changed.
From where I stand, I can see dinner is in full swing. A bonfire is burning in the pit, its orange glow lighting up the darkened sky, and everyone seems relaxed and happy.
But my thoughts go back to a man I never knew.
To someone who has affected the turn of events in my life.
Fletcher Knox.
Before tonight, I hated him with everything I had. His selfishness. His deceit. His sense of entitlement. The way he could convince people he was worthy of the things he stole from everyone else around him.
For putting Tate in a situation to be harmed.
But something happened on the way home. A part of me realized that in the end, Fletcher might have finally tried to do one selfless thing in his life. The man who was a selfish chicken shit, who lied and cheated and stole from his wife as he racked up debt and couldn’t face her or the situation he’d created, might have tried ending this all with his death so that his wife wouldn’t be harmed.
That is if Tate’s hunch about his death is right.
Either way, he failed. He hurt her in so many ways that the pain lives on. It’s in each day that she works herself to the bones to get this place profitable. It’s in the fear that flits through her eyes every time she’s asked to trust again, and it’s in the screams she lets loose underwater.
Hell, yes, the fucker failed.
Laughter rings out across the ranch just above the soft twang of Thomas Rhett singing on the radio as I pace my way to the stables. As my feet eat up the ground, I debate whether to tell Tate about the ledgers or about the confrontation I got into with one of the Destin twins and the threats I made. And if I tell her that, then I’d have to share my realization that it wasn’t a drunk driver who ran her off the road that night, but a warning from her husband’s bookie to settle his debts.
My feet falter when I hear her voice carrying over to me. Her laugh is carefree and playful.
It tugs on the part of me I keep trying to pretend doesn’t want more with her.
When I see her in the simple sundress with a glass of wine in her hand, it calls on me to figure out how to change it all.